


Pretty Doll

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Extremely Dubious Consent, Fetish Clothing, Gangbang, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Partial Dollification, Partial Mind Control, Slut Shaming, Very Light Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Tim tries to seduce Stranger creatures for info and gets in over his head.(Happens between MAG104 and MAG 114)





	Pretty Doll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).



Tim takes a deep breath. He wanted to do this. He wanted to be here. He doesn't actually desire it, but he's taken Viagra and he's good at feigning sexual interest.

He puts on the suit that the monster calling himself Tom got ready for him. It's all black plastic, not exactly latex, something that feels disturbingly almost like human skin, but not quite. It lets Tim's sleek blond hair out but covers his face, with holes in all the right places.

The dog collar - it's his. He keeps it. No one asked him to remove it, and that's good.

He's actually surprised that he gets enough privacy to change. Even when he's infiltrating a circle of murderous monsters and clowns, he can be reminded that at times, the Institute is worse.

But they're the ones who took his brother. They're the ones who took Sasha. So they're the ones he will destroy now.

He can't tell who is a human, who is a monster. There are masks and plastic everywhere. Hardly more than a dozen of them, but the room is small. He won't let himself recoil. It's probably his best opportunity to learn more.

_He wishes he could recognize these monsters on sight, so he wouldn't have had to say what he is, so he could just have been the hot boy in a weird place with a circus vibe._

_But of course, he can't._

_He wishes he hadn't let the monster that looked like Sasha hold him after the worm attack, let it kiss him and fuck him hard and painfully. He wishes he hadn't enjoyed it. Tim has really been snatched by the most useless Eye entity ever._

_Not that it was the worst part, of course. This thing eating the memories of Sasha, putting its face on every friendly interaction they ever had - it's the ultimate violation, far worse than sex, worse than killing her even._

Tim enters the room, swaying his hips. He earned his reputation as a slut with this creature who posed as Sasha's boyfriend - who probably already heard it about him before. It's the easier role to play. He wonders what the thing told his guests. Do they all know he works for the Magnus Institute? Or is there any use to the skinsuit and mask hiding his face and his worm scars? He hopes that some of them can feel lust, that they are not here only to hurt him.

The creature named Tom - it makes him trip and fall on his hands and knees. Tim lands as softly as he can, then moans wantonly. It's a bit exaggerated, but he's not sure these things know about actual human expressions.

"Time you start to show what you're here for, doll," he says harshly. He shoves his hard cock into Tim's mouth in one swift motion. Tim gags, but doesn't vomit. It's only the beginning.

_The monster that looked like Sasha - that doesn't look like Sasha but made Tim think it did - Tim tracked it in the tunnels. He heard his memory of Sasha's voice, calling and wailing and sobbing. Tim played naive, it was so easy - how naive he had been before. He played relieved, loving, worried, compassionate. He promised to get it help, and after it ruled out the Police or Elias, Tim got what he pretended not to want, the contact info of its monster friends._

_It was the best way he could think of, the hard, focused way. At the time he hoped the first step would hurt the most._

_It might still have been a trap, but he had nothing else._

The suit has a weird firmness. In some places, it seems to restrain Tim's movements, to make him slower. It's comfortable, though. But when one of the creatures is teasing his cock, his nipples, even his thighs through it, it seems so thin. Getting actually aroused should make things easier. It doesn't.

He concentrates on the thing's cock. It's not his first time with this one. It's almost familiar, at this point. It likes to make it grow bigger inside Tim's mouth, make him cry, push him to his limit.

He's used to it, he can bear it, he can even enjoy it; but now is not the time to think about how he deserves to hurt. Now is the time to turn things in his favour.

When a cock is brutally pushed into his ass, he almost feels thankful for the distraction. It hurts far less than it should. He arches his back and listens intently.

Isn't it a good, obedient doll, the monster called Tom asks, boasting about stealing him from the Magnus Institute. Of course, Tim decided to be. It's what the monsters want, after all. Gertrude was never obedient, but at one point, she had to pretend. There's no shame in being their toy for a short while.

His mind wants to go to weird places instead of concentrating on his shame and pain. He lets it.

_Tim took his time to build trust with this thing. He could see when he was showing him just a bit of the work he did, the wax killer statues. Of course he didn't tell Elias, or Daisy. He built lust too, because he doesn't know about all the creatures, but this one certainly can get hard watching him. Tim thinks it's a previous generation of the Anatomy Students Dr Elliot met. Tom was a generic name in England long before John Doe was coined._

_That was not the way he guessed it, though. You can't judge people for having weird kinks, but it reminded him of this statement, of course, the way the monster loved to see him pee, the way he made him drink glycerine - Tim always had this fantasy of gulping nitric acid afterwards - the way he loved to make him bleed and look in detail. He asked him when it started to hurt._

_Tim pretended to love it. Pretended to love the pain. Actually, it was the only part he loved._

Tim has had many things pressed in his ass or in his face. Cocks and fannies, sex toys, with condoms or belonging to plastic mannequins, he lost the capacity to tell the difference quite a while ago. The taste, the consistency, all bleed into one, which is only him, the taste of his forever soiled palate.

He has reached a comfortable state where hate and even disgust almost arouse him.

He obeys, and lets himself be manhandled, and obeys again. They can't stop, and he feels wanted. He shouldn't have doubted his attractiveness. Though he is also ugly and disgusting now, as their very nature bleeds into him, but it's all the same in the end. Why would he care about looking like himself? It's dangerous here.

He can hear them talk about the Unknowing. It's what he expected. Them having enough fun with him to become drunk with power, to muse about what they will achieve. No place yet. But Tim can tell by the way they're talking - it's a matter of months, maybe even weeks. Not sooner, fortunately.

"But we're getting to you first, Eyeling," one voice comments. Is it the monster they call Tom? Tim is no longer sure. He's meant to pay attention, so why can't he do this?

"Tell me what is your darkest fantasy right now," someone orders.

Tim wants to answer. He wonders whether they plan to do it to him, or to deny him. He wants to answer fast, so he can have his mouth filled again. Dirty words are not enough, don't make him feel whole and full.

"What about the one," he answers provocatively, "where I open my eyes on a cock I have sucked and realize it's my brother's."

He doesn't want this. He doesn't desire this, but if it was a way to know what happened, to see Danny again... no, to see the monster who wore his brother's skin again. Maybe he's already seen it. Maybe it changed skin after it decomposed, but it was one of those on this room, abusing his holes, how could he know?

He shouldn't have answered this.

He waits for a laugh, for a revelation that all of this was planned, that it was a trap all along. Sasha never knew about Danny, so the monster didn't eat it from her. But maybe the thing that killed Danny knew all along...

"You're a dirty one, pretty doll," the voice just laughs, and Tim feels so relieved when he gets fucked again, ignored like a thing, a toy you can talk in front of with no consequences.

_This thing didn't sleep with Sasha, Tim had to remind himself. But he slept with the image I have of Sasha, will I ever be free of this? Will I ever remember what she looked like? Will I ever be able to despise this false face without disgusting myself?_

_He had tried everything else. They should have told him. He'd thought about going to see Leanne Denikin while he was in Malaysia, he could have found her. But he resisted the need out of pride in not doing what the Institute wanted of him. He thought it was not the same circus at the time. He didn't know yet that every circus in the world was the same big monster._

_He shouldn't have had to steal tapes, maybe he would have found another way, but already all the Anglerfish victims had changed contacts, Basira and Melanie told him. He was useless. He's useless except here. He's even useless here, as time loses meaning._

_Of course he was never meant to win. He thought they took the bait, but he did._

Tim's sight is becoming blurred, as is his hearing. 

He wanted to be here, he remembers. He's a slut. A huge, dirty one. He's made to be here. He can no longer distinguish if it's his own voice in his head or the monsters' voices that remind him of it, but it's obvious anyway. The plastic cocks are so good in his holes. He no longer cares whether they're attached to something. He doesn't come, he can't, maybe he never will, but he's in his place.

Something comments on how much he likes being an available, used slut. They're so right he almost purrs.

"Where's Sasha?" one of them asks. Tim gets annoyed with their questions, annoyed his mouth is not full, again.

"Dead," he answers. He can't cry. Not now, not here. He's a toy, not a person.

They laugh, sounding amused. Tim didn't assume they had any empathy for the concept of mourning when he fucked Tom right after giving him back his false love photographs, spitting on Sasha's memory. He shouldn't be surprised. He's not.

"Of course you knew. Where's our Sasha, pretty doll?"

He should be relieved they actually thought the Institute was that stupid. They got tricked by their agent for months, after all. Except he feels very stupid now. He no longer wants to talk. If he answers, they will start fucking him again.

He hates them, but he's tired, so tired of trying to pretend to be a person.

But if he indulges them - can he ever have his revenge? The need for it is still burning inside of him. It almost wakes him up. It makes him see that he's turning into a sex doll, a real one. That he's not himself. That he's too tired to be himself. Is that possible? It shouldn't be. But it is. He failed. Already he wants to obey, he wants to be used again, in any possible way.

But they deserve to suffer...

He tries to hurt himself, but when he curves his nails against his palm, or when he bites his tongue hard, it all feels like insensible plastic.

"I hate you I hate you I hate you," he tries to think, not like a doll, like a human being. "I hate you too, big eye monster, but I need clarity please."

_"No strings attached," had said the creature that was not Sasha, never, only her murderer. She had mimed a marionnette and laughed. Tim had laughed too._

_He cringed when the other thing called him "doll" before. He just pretended he didn't mind._

_The Institute might be worse. But not to him. Tim can hate something else more._

_He can be free of fear if he concentrates on this other one, the fear of failure. He can't allow himself this. He can't allow himself to forget the hate and revenge and the violence, even if it makes the pain go away. He needs to remember, and for that, he needs to know._

Tim thinks there is absolutely no occult intervention here. He just made a choice.

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know anything anymore." It's true when he says it, and then, his mind reacts to the horrific blank, and he's more himself again than he has been for... was it hours? Days?

He still wants cocks inside him, fingers, anything. But it's no longer all that he is.

"I need... I need..." He stands up. His knees don't hurt, like plastic joints. No one stops him as he heads for the toilet, pretending he still has this kind of human needs. Some monsters wave goodbye at him. They think - they know that he has to go back to them to keep being fucked. He needs to.

Tim climbs on the toilet seat and is surprised to discover the window is not closed. It's hard to jump and climb with a body that no longer feels like flesh, but he manages, he does.

He's in a very small suburban back garden, and he's not alone. But he recognizes these ones, or rather, he recognizes the way he doesn't recognize them, and also the white van. Two big men, looking like delivery workers...

"Please, I need..." He drapes against one of them. "You have the best cock here. Please."

The creature seems intrigued, but unlike the others inside, doesn't immediately reach for the opening of his trousers. Tim does though, curling up in its lap until he can feel the huge cock under all, suck it though the already damp clothes. He feels a bit better. He can think again. They deliver cursed artefacts. It's their whole thing.

"The guys inside," he says, with the most idiotic voice he can manage. It's not hard. "They said you had to take the suit back."

He almost cries in relief when they start undressing him. They can carry him like he's nothing. They open the suit, peel it off, and Tim can feel his abused flesh again, can feel the nausea, the disgust, he could no longer imagine while in this thing. His hair is no longer pretty, stuck to his skull with sweat. But he's himself.

And then he cries out, as one of them penetrates him.

Of course, he can think. Of course, they're your worst nightmares, they won't fuck you when you beg for it, but if you no longer want to, if you just discovered again your own terror of rape and violation...

He tries to relax, but can't. And even here, it's not enough. These are not the biggest cocks he even took, but they don't feel like flesh, they are harder, not like plastic but like old wood or stone. He feels torn apart and he probably is. It doesn't make them stop, enjoying his pain and his abused holes. Tim cries. He can't tell which is worse, the horror he feels now, or the horror he wasn't able to feel before.

Only after they're finished do they carefully load the suit into the van. Tim can see - things, the coffin he heard about, other ones he can't comprehend. They no longer care about him.

They don't even notice that he removes his collar and puts it between a crate and the inner carpeting of the van. He's just crawling, after all.

_People really care about finding their lost pets. And the GPS trackers are surprisingly cheap. Linked to his phone, safe, at home._

_It could work, Tim thought. The monster that looked like Sasha couldn't use her computer, but it didn't make all the computers in the room crash, as long as it didn't try to use them. It can work long enough if he can find something that will go to the Ritual's site._

Tim just wants to lie on the dirty grass. But he won't. He just has to crawl long enough to find someone who will scream at his blood-stained nakedness and call the cops. He can do this too. He hates all of them enough.


End file.
